


Seeing Clearly I'm Surrounded

by Pyreof_Books



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Andreil Week 2018, M/M, Mild Smut, mentions of other foxes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 00:00:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15182261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyreof_Books/pseuds/Pyreof_Books
Summary: Casual life of Neil... idk, really. No plot, just existence.Andreil Week 2018 Day 5





	Seeing Clearly I'm Surrounded

Neil skirts around mirrors whenever presented with one. When Allison’s compact glances his way, after he comes out of the shower and the fog doesn’t quite cover the entire thing, when Nicky makes him pose for a selfie.

When he does find himself in the reflection, though, he’s like a deer in the headlights. For a moment, all Neil sees is flashy red hair and he thinks his father has come for him, to drag him into the basement and hack away at his achilles heel. Then his eyes catch on the mangled left side of his face, courtesy of a flare tempered bitch, with matching slices almost splitting his eye on the other side. His father did not have these marks, and the fleeting feeling of safety envelopes him like a card trick before he meets his own eyes. Icy blue, alert, fearful, maybe pretty, if what Nicky says is true. _Hello Nathaniel._

The real monster stares back at him, unwavering and _afraid._ His father was a murderer but Nathaniel is a killer; he wears survival as a cape and lets it billow around him, trying to swallow the life Neil builds. This is the face of a beaten animal that has removed its own claws to dissuade its enemy only to come back with snapping jaws. A Fox, perhaps, if the red mane and predatory eyes are any indication. Distantly, Neil wonders what the other Foxes see when they look at him. If they had ever feared receiving his father’s all too wide smile, or wondered if the knife he now carried would ever meet their throats. Probably not, but the baby Foxes may suspect their captain is too resilient for their threats.

            When Neil walks away from being captured in mirrors, he loses five minutes and hates the sky a little more for reminding him of _blue._

***

            The court walls can rebound a ball ten feet into Kevin’s perfectly placed net. They can also bounce them straight against a player’s helmet. A head is not a useful court fixture for a player.

            “What the FUCK, Andrew!” Jack shouts from across the court, where he had fallen flat on his ass after Andrew ‘accidentally’ bounced the ball into his head.

            Andrew stares at him- no, through him, until Neil walked over and stops a few inches away. Andrew looks at him instead.

            “He can say what he wants. It doesn’t matter. He’ll learn, one day,” To all of the others on the court, Neil is relaxed, a bit of a sweat on his skin from warming up and their first scrimmage. But Andrew has always seen more in his eyes, and right now beneath the crystal hue he is _burning_ , perhaps ready to snap at Jack and send him back to the dorms- better yet, off this team- with one poised soliloquy.

This is the edge Andrew tells himself he won’t make Neil jump from, until he absolutely must. Neil is staring at Andrew, perhaps angling for some kind of reply.

“There is a practice going on, Neil. I can’t guard the goal if you’re in it,” Andrew leans his head the hand resting on his racket.

Neil smirks, content to hear Andrew is going to play, and runs back to the others with Andrew left to stare at his back.

Back in the locker room, Neil changes out with the others; the vulnerability he feels with lingering looks at his shredded skin is dampened by the feeling of family surrounding him. He told Andrew it was because of the trust he built that he was okay with it. That, and the scars some of the other boys wear are horrific in their own right, and their shame makes him want to exemplify... _something_.

The pink puckered lines twist over the contours of his body, Neil’s warm showers making them darker. The awkward tan lines from covering his torso with T shits and arm bands is a strange sight. Neil doesn’t know what beauty is in the purely physical sense, but if he had to define it he would say it was Andrew. If Andrew was asked, he wouldn’t respond, but in his mind it would be the strength Neil possess, not strictly in body.

Tonight they have a game, and before he changes he smooths scarred hands over his bright orange uniform, like he was trying to absorb the blinding eyesore into his palms. This is how he branded himself, this is how he wakes and breathes and runs and stays- with orange jerseys marching with him and orange walls cornering the enemy.

Coins flip, a ball drops, whistles blow, a game is played. Sweat runs on the court, flung aside from panting players. The red that flares is a constant for Neil- always will it be an extra pulse for him, always a provocation of a victory of a tiny battle in his war strung life. His hair is red like a point earned, a prophecy of triumph. Aaron says it’s an indication of a soulless bastard.

After they win- and really, was there any other option? They go to Edens. Andrew has stockpiled outfits for every time Neil goes out with them, and he doesn’t know where Andrew has to time- or space- to collect them. Really, Andrew had ravaged his entire wardrobe, somehow silently encouraging the other Foxes to replenish it along with him. Now he was stuffed full of light colors, greys, and soft fabric that doesn’t cling or hang. Neil still doesn’t see anything wrong with old clothes, but will admit the ones he has now feel better on his skin.

Tonight, Neil is also armed with eyeliner Allison forced into his hands sometime last year. _To bring out your gorgeous blues, babe_ , she had said. Andrew approves (perhaps for more reasons than Neil thinks). Neil could stand to look at himself for a little longer and a lot less fear when he wore it.

Andrew, or course, wears black, as does Neil but with tight grey jeans instead. Though Neil let himself fantasize about Andrew in color, with greens or browns or greys, he likes Andrew in black. Blond, almost white hair is Neil’s beacon in the crowds here. They sit at their table and sip their drinks- one for each tonight, Neil notes with fuzzy excitement- and match hazel eyes to blue. In the club, Neil suspects Andrew’s eyes are more green/brown right now than blue. The faint light making him seem rather reflective in here. They pass the time with idle chit chat until Neil goes to attempt a dance to a loud, pulsing beat with Nicky and Aaron, not good and not bad at moving to the music.

When they get to the house, the boys disband and Neil is surprised when Andrew tilts his head to the bedroom immediately.

They lock the door, but neither care if the lights are on or not. Their pace is slow but their fervor is consuming and Neil is panting _yes yes yes_ against Andrew’s red tipped ears. Andrew’s hands are tracing puckered, blushing skin and Neil has the permission to so he kissed the inside of Andrew’s forearms, licking at sweat and skin and grooves. With Andrew hard above him and the bed soft below he was pleasantly cocooned in warmth and skin and _feeling_.

Andrew’s stare is golden now, Neil would swear it, pupils dilated like bullets but the ring around it gorgeous. When Neil arches and moans he tries not to blink because _this_ is exactly what he wanted, even more than the hand shoved between them. Some part of his brain that must be horribly broken to not be screaming for Andrew’s attention is idly concerned his eye liner is smudged.

Neil asks ‘yes or no’ through puffs of breath, wrapping the ‘yes’ in his mind and moving down Andrew’s flushed chest. He thinks he likes red better like this, as proof of Andrew being affected by him. Neil thinks he like it more when it moved into Andrew’s cheeks and lips. With the ‘yes’ still solid in his gaze Neil moves to kiss his jaw, blazing a path to his temple and forehead before retreating a mirrored path on the other half of his face and scattering wet kisses all over his neck. Neil doesn’t think he would need to see if he could hear the almost silent _Neil_ whispered before Andrew came over Neil’s own hand.

The sun’s light through the window in the morning is pale in comparison to Andrew’s intensity on all fronts. He runs a hand over the purple bruises on his chest and inhales deeply, trying not to move while paradoxically expanding his chest. Andrew’s hand comes out slowly, though, so he must have already been awake. Neil mumbles ‘yes’ before any question can be asked and Andrew threads his fingers in Neil’s hair, a quiet request to stay in bed for a little while longer.

Neil may not see the lines of attraction that pull strangers towards each other in a crowd like Matt’s movies make them out to, but he does see the tantalizing swirl of colors he steeps his life in, tethered by gold and orange and black and red and blue and _purple_. And many more, when he took the time to look.

**Author's Note:**

> I think I have yet to write something where Andrew doesn't touch Neil's hair...


End file.
